Unravel
by Leondra
Summary: Everything Ross knows to be true can be summed up in the way he looks at Rachel. COMPLETE


**AN: Okay, here's the deal: I'm doing NanoWrimo, which is where insane people, such as myself, attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days (November). That is, in addition to schoolwork, the reason I have not updated any of my chaptered fics, namely, TOW The Christmas Present. I am sorry; please don't kill me. And the only reason I'm updating now is that this was, when I first started, an abandoned prologue with few differences (namely: the characters)**

**Disclaimer: What do you think?

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At the comic book store, he buys an old _Wonder Woman_ (just for nostalgia's sake, he tells himself). It's preserved carefully in a plastic sheath, but he finds he doesn't really care about that anymore. In fact, Ross has the sudden urge to rip off the protective covering and throw the comic book in the gutter.

He's learned to ignore these urges.

In his pocket lies an envelope. It's unopened, but he might as well have read it- it's thin enough for him to stick it in his small jacket pocket, and that tells Ross all he needs to know.

He locks himself in the bathroom, throws the comic on the counter, and squints at his reflection in the mirror. He smiles shakily at the bags under his eyes and the beginnings of sideburns creeping their way down his face.

He doesn't _need_ Harvard.

And with that thought, he finds the courage to slice open the letter.

* * *

_'I know these truths to be self-evident…'_

* * *

When Ross, thinks about it, Will is really only friend. (Ross tries not to think about it too often). 

Will always sends him emails, many of them written purely for the purpose of making fun of the club Ross had founded, _Dino Dudes, _which Will had joined for the same reason Ross had joined (co-founded) the _I Hate Rachel Green Club_. In school, they really only had each other.

Will sends _Flintstones_ cartoons (another way to make Ross' blood boil in the way only Will knew how to do), small forwards, little mpegs.

One day he sends Ross a simple letter, the kind that he always sends when he's in a philosophical mood. Ross has gotten used to these type of messages- they were meant to be thought-provoking but really weren't, because they were so overused. But this one _is_ thought-provoking. The subject is "You", and, although the message is clearly from his account, Will doesn't leave his name.

Just,

**Who Are You? **

And then,

**Who Are You Really? **

After re-reading it once, Ross scoffs. After re-reading it twice, he comments out-loud on the punctuation error; there should be a comma after the "you" and before the "really". …shouldn't there?

After re-reading it a third time, he adds it to his **Saved Mail **folder.

* * *

The next day, after logging on and playing _Tetras_ for a mind-mulching hour, Ross starts to draft a reply. He entitles it, **'Everything I Know to Be True'**. 

A good thirty minutes later, he saves it in his Drafts folder.

(Empty.)

* * *

Ross goes to the computer, opens the file. The hand resting on the mouse is shaking slightly. He types. 

**Item 1: I am not going to Harvard. **

He tells himself he likes the thought of that; finally _knowing _something, and he tries to smile. But his mouth seems to find the action hard.

He is starting with the truths that are easy to prove.

The thin envelope, the formal words that are polite but firm: '_We are sorry to inform you that our school has reached the capacity…'_

**_Bullshit. _**

But it remains his first real truth.

* * *

He can step on the scales (they're broken, but he'll check his exact weight later), measure his height (6'2), see if he can roll his tongue (yes), if he can wiggle his ears (no), how long he can hold his breath. And with each truth he can build a foundation, and on that foundation he can stand. 

He is not going to Harvard.

* * *

He dreams of her some nights- _most_ nights, if he's completely honest with himself. 

When she comes over, he watches her face for possible signs of affection-for him.

"Is Mon here?" she asks, in a voice like strawberry lip balm and maraschino cherries, and he does not waver.

When she stays for dinner, he watches every hand gesture she makes for signs of…he doesn't know what he's looking for, anymore. Not really.

"Please pass the potatoes?" she asks, as she pushes her numerous glittery bangles further up her left arm. He passes the potatoes, spilling half of them in the process.

She doesn't say anything, but he knows she is secretly laughing at him, and he does not waver.

* * *

He thinks, sometimes, that he may know just about everything about her. 

He knows that she loves the spotlight. Acting, speaking, you name it, she loved it. Until she realized that actresses didn't make any money and politicians didn't make any friends.

He knows that at seven, she believed that she was a princess, left on her family's doorstep and adopted as one of the Green's. She wore a paper crown and tied gold ribbons in her hair, the ends of which were destined to unravel into threads.

He knows that she thinks _anything _can be said with music.

'**If they were a song,**' he thinks, '**it wouldn't be sweet and romantic; it would be awkward and fumbling, but still beautiful. The tempo would be fast, the base low and scratchy. The guitar steady like a heartbeat and the keyboards wailing and spiraling. The lyrics would be _here _and _now _and_ maybe? _and _you _and _me _and _us. _Always us.' **

**Lyrical Summations.

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**

The list was long now. Ross had put a great deal of effort into all of the items, honing the facts and making them true. Most recent is **Item 78: **Favorite Movie is 'Born to Win.' (He's watched it again just to make sure.) **Item 79: **He thinks he might look good with a moustache. (Maybe he'll grow one in a year or so.) He jots Item 80 down quickly; hardly thinking about it anymore: **Monica's hogging the computer again**.

"Monica!" His mom yells. "Your brother needs to use the computer! Really, darling, you know he needs it much more than you do- you should be studying anyway."

His mother.

He has always loved the woman, but there is not a truth within her.

* * *

Ross drinks tea in the mornings now, even though his list states he only drinks coffee, and doesn't bother to put the paleontology book he is currently reading into his backpack. He writes Item 81 down with a splintered hand: _Someday, I am going to be a basketball star_. 

(Chip plays basketball.)

Then he boots up the computer, opens another email, addresses it to Will, and types.

**Who Are You?**

**Who Are You, Really?

* * *

**

**Item 172: I am going to New York University. **

**Item 173: I have applied for a double room; my roommate's name is "yet to be announced."**

**Item 174: I am going to become a paleontologist. **

**Item 175: I amstill waiting for something significant to happen. **

**Item 176: That means I'm still waiting for Rachel Green to notice me. **

**Item 177: I am standing by the door. **

**Item 178: And I am not who you think I am.

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**

His mind is made up of paths and slides and ladders and mazes, all of them leading to her. It would smell of tangerines and her favorite perfume. He'd invited her to enter it's pavilion. She had declined.

Or, more likely, she hadn't even bothered to open the invitation.

* * *

'**_It doesn't matter. I don't care about her_**,' he tells himself. And in the silence, his lies begin to bleed, and he knows that one day he'll write songs about her- for her. The lyrics are already there. 

**Item 200: Someday I'll write a song for you. I know it; I promise. This is how it goes: **

**

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The ending isn't cut off. Please review!**


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